Craving Her Rough Diamond Doc

“Um, no. Maybe that’s how it looks, but offering to help was not to annoy you.” Imogen rubbed her head with the still stiff rawhide glove. “That was a different plan to make you say yes. That plan involved showing you that I’m a quick learner.” She began ticking off fingers as she talked herself up, but the gloves were so stiff her ticking lost the pizzazz she’d hoped to muster. “I’m determined to make it work. I’ll work very hard to make it come out well for everyone, including your patients, Amanda, and even you.”

Wyatt looked at the gloves and back to Imogen’s face. Nice face, even all pink and angry like that. Her help—anyone’s help, really—was the last thing he wanted. If Josh had survived, they’d have been rebuilding together. As the last Beauchamp standing, the responsibility was his alone.

“You really are like erosion.” Exceptional at wearing things down. Absolutely relentless. “If it will make you shut up, go ahead. You won’t make it ten minutes, but move the logs if you’re able.” She wouldn’t be any help. Letting her wear herself out on a log might just get her out of his hair.

He grabbed the chainsaw and safety gear. Before starting it, he watched how she did with her first log. Stubborn woman. No way in hell was she going to get that thing moving without hurting herself.

The rawhide gloves she’d been bandying about looked to have never seen use. Still stiff and not a mark on them. She flexed her fingers a couple times to get them bending then mimicked what she’d seen him do earlier: turn, rope over the shoulder, then lean forward to pull. A few aborted tries and she choked up on the rope, which lifted the end enough to actually get it moving. Stronger than she looked, and smart.

The shorts were impractical for that kind of labor, but it let him see her legs flex from her calves all the way up to a plump little rear. Hard to look away from. Since he’d come home, Wyatt had resisted all the local attempts to fix him up. But now, with Imogen’s legs and rear distracting him…Swearing off dating since he’d come home might not have been the best decision.

Shake it off. Get back to work.

Imogen worked as long as she could. But even taking a break after every log, her whole body still hurt. Her shoulders screamed the loudest, like a foghorn warning her away from the dangers ahead. She had a new appreciation for packhorses and whatever farm animals had to do this in the olden days—before she’d been around to make stupid points about being a hard worker.

She flopped onto the ground where Wyatt marked more logs to cut, sprawling gracelessly on her back. “Okay. I admit it, this was a dumb idea.”

Wyatt chuckled, and it sounded like honest amusement this time. “They’re heavier than you’d think.”

“And I…” Her voice cracked. She swallowed and tried again. “Can’t remember what I was going to say.”

He pulled a watch from his pocket. “You’ve been at it a few hours. I need to make a call. Think you can make it to the ridge?”

“You want me to climb the mountain with you?” Oh, sure, now he wanted her to go somewhere with him. Now that she couldn’t move.

“Yes.”

For once he didn’t say no. If he were a puppy, Imogen would give him a treat. More yeses was what she wanted to encourage in him. Plus, hard workers didn’t lie down on the job, though they might ask for help to get up. She lifted one hand toward him. “If I fall, just cover me with leaves or something suitably survival-oriented.”

His hand was large and warm, and were she not exhausted, Imogen would’ve sworn her skin buzzed where his touched it. Distracting, and probably due to her poor, overworked hands having to grip that rope so hard for so long. Even if the universe was dead set on punishing her for her stubbornness, at least Wyatt seemed to have softened to her a little. Enough to be cordial, if nothing else.

Once she was upright, he released her hand, waited for her to get a drink, then started up the steep incline. A shorter stride and a slower pace said he was waiting for her to keep up, probably another nod to cordiality. The air no longer crackled with irritation, and Imogen wanted to keep it that way. She tried to move faster than she actually wanted to move: zero miles per hour.

When she resorted to using the trees to slingshot herself further up the incline, Wyatt backtracked and took her by the hand to haul her the rest of the way up the hillside. “Not in the mood to chase you down the hill when you start rolling, or to carry you to the hospital when you fall and crack your head open.”

“So gallant,” Imogen murmured, but she held fast to his hand—grateful not only for the assistance but for the distraction his touch provided. The sensation wasn’t buzzing, though it had a kind of vibration to it. It was more like an energy she couldn’t identify. Waves of tingly awareness raced up her arm and to distant, interesting parts of her body. Parts that now demanded more attention than her screaming muscles. If he could keep this Helpful Polite mask on, she might revisit that drink idea.

“Big step.” Wyatt dragged her attention back to climbing then took both of her hands in his and hauled her the remaining few feet, past the tree line to the grassy ridge.

When she was steady, he released her, fished out his cellphone and strolled a short distance away, leaving her to take in the view.

Imogen folded back onto the ground, her eyes tracing the contours of the rolling green hills that spread out in front of her. “Okay, the view was worth the hike on screaming limbs.”

“Thought it was a good reward.”

He sounded distracted. She glanced his way and watched him scowl at the phone in his hand. “Trouble?”

“Need a new one…” He tapped the screen a few more times and shook his head.

“Want mine? It’s the toughest of cellphones. Waterproof. Easy to use. When you can get a signal, that is.”

“Why do you have a waterproof cell?”

“Sometimes I get caught in the rain with the top off my car.”

He shook his head, but the small smile made it less judgmental. With her phone in his hand, he took a few steps away to make his call.

She should definitely take a picture when he got done. Also maybe take a picture of him and his whole chiseled-muscles thing. Hard. He was probably hard all over. If only he was less mentally hard. Short-sighted. Narrow-minded…

He was probably thinking the same thing about her. Which was fine. If it got her what she needed, he could think what he liked. She already had a friend, and one was plenty. The last thing she needed was to impress another member of Amanda’s family and have them start comparing notes on her. Or conspiring to make her stay.

He kept his voice low, but she could hear the tension in it as he spoke.

“So you have to climb a mountain to use a cellphone around here. Sort of negates the convenience factor.” Talking to herself, another sign she was tired, crazy, or that maybe it was time to give up. As she gazed over the scenic panorama, she caught a glimpse of something white in her peripheral vision. On a flat spot inside the trees down the ridge sat lots of big white blocks placed in a rectangle. She waited for him to hand back her phone and asked, “Did you start building up here first?”

“No…” He didn’t need to look where she was pointing to know what had roused her curiosity: the barrier wall surrounding the old family graveyard. She didn’t need to go there. Best leave that undisturbed. She disturbed enough on the mountain without turning her loose on the dead too. “That’s not a house foundation. You had enough of the view?”

“Picture, then I’m done.”

Having confirmed the agency couldn’t get a suitable replacement by tomorrow, he’d best consider whether or not to brave the week alone or give her the shot at the job she repeatedly demanded.

Wyatt waited at the trees for her to get the photo and rejoin him. Her feet dragged—not nearly as much bounce in her step as when she’d haughtily stormed his mountain—but she didn’t look so close to dropping as she had when he’d hauled her with him up the climb. “Need help?”

“No, I’m better.” Betterish, maybe. She stuffed her phone into her pocket and took the kind of deep breath a person did when about to attempt something requiring concentration.

He helped her off the first ledge-like step anyway, then let go. A few steps down and he turned to look back at her, needing reassurance she wasn’t going to fall after he’d worked her like a mule all afternoon. Her own fault, too stubborn to stop when it had got to be too much, but he’d feel bad if she got hurt because he’d let her exhaust herself. He’d never thought she’d actually pose a threat to his rule about the cabin or he’d just have put the earplugs back in. Why hadn’t that occurred to him earlier?

Was this what it would be like to let her work for him? Someone he’d always needed to keep an eye on wouldn’t be much help. As nurses were always in demand, it made them hard to get on short notice. Amanda’s opinion of Imogen counted for something, but he had to wonder if part of her support was just friendship or knowing how fast Imogen would be available. But in his experience, annoying and stubborn were easier to suffer than superior and condescending. Having her work for him might even make him look good enough by comparison that he’d become the one the patients opened up to, rather than his nurse.

His shoulder cracked against a tree, forcing him to look where he was going again. “If you need help, say something.”

“I will,” she called, her voice labored and breathy.

No, she wouldn’t. She’d set her mind on proving she could work herself half to death and suffer no ill-effects. Who could deny Wonder Woman a job?

Maybe he’d been a little premature on the insubstantial label. She was substantial enough to fight for what she wanted.

“I’m fine. It’s a little easier going down. You just have to kind of control your fall by using the trees. They’re like nature’s speed bumps.”

It was the nature’s speed bumps bit that got him. He laughed out loud, surprising himself, and lost his footing. The second time one of her quips had cost him his balance. His legs shot out from under him, and he did precisely what he’d been worried she’d do.

He fell down the mountain.

CHAPTER TWO (#u399a18a3-e6aa-5eff-9293-f35535756274)

IN THE SPACE of a few seconds Wyatt traveled several yards down the mountain and was caked from hip to heel with a layer of dirt. Some time during his impromptu trip the outside of his right forearm had caught against something. It hurt.

“Wyatt!” Imogen shouted his name twice before he sat up. “You’re bleeding.”